This is a Worthwhile Fight
by Angelina Johnson
Summary: When Robb Stark runs out of allies in Westeros, he doesn't go crawling back to Walder Frey with his tail between his legs. Instead, he sails East to treat with Daenerys Targaryen, and just like that, the course of Westeros history as we know it is changed... Season 3 and beyond redo, diverging after 3x05 'Kissed by Fire.'
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Let's go back in time to when my favorite King in the North was still (kind of) thriving and my favorite Dragon Queen hadn't gone totally cray cray yet. Season 3 Robberys redo, because why not. Title taken from Taylor Swift's 'State of Grace'.

* * *

Rickard Karstark had told Robb that the war was lost the second he married _that foreign whore _.

Though the words taste bitter to Robb, a part of him wonders if perhaps it's right. He turns to look at the sleeping form beside him, and he wonders if it were a Frey girl instead, if the mood in the camp would be lighter. If it were a Frey girl, would his men be uplifted and confident, rather than tense and on edge as they waited for news of whether or not the Freys will ally with them once more and find the spark that has been missing of late?

Robb doesn't regret loving her. He doesn't regret choosing her. But sometimes, in the dead of the night, he still can't help but ponder.

Talisa stirs beside him, and Robb wonders if she can feel his worrying, even in her dreams. He disentangles himself from the furs that they are lying under, and paces over to where he'd discarded his clothing earlier. Tugging it back on as quietly as he can manage, Robb slips out of his room and treads towards the battlements, longing for fresh air.

It has been raining what feels like non-stop for days, but he is relieved to find that there's a reprieve, and he can step out into the cool night without being instantly soaked. Idly, Robb thinks he might still have gone out, even _if _the rain were pouring down; he needs to clear his head, and he's not going to be able to do that while he's confined in the walls of his uncle's castle.

Robb looks up towards the stars, just barely peeking out from behind what has felt like an endless amount of clouds. There were some who believed that the old gods that he and most of his family worshipped were everywhere, in everything, and Robb thinks that if he were a god, he'd hide amongst the very stars that he's looking up at now, instead of inside of a weirwood tree. Inside of anything else, really; there's something about stars that seem so _free_.

But Robb Stark is not a god. He's not a king, or a wolf, though he gets called those things often enough. He's _not_ free, like the stars. He's not even yet a man, not hardly.

He's a boy, just a boy who's won every battle but is somehow losing this war.

Robb sighs heavily. When he'd started all of this, all he'd wanted was to save his father, and to bring his family home. Now it has been two years of hardship, and what does he have to show for it? Two dead brothers, one sister missing and another married to a Lannister, and a love whose presence in his camp had only lost him the confidence of his men.

The wind whips at Robb's face, indicating that the storm will be back soon, but Robb isn't ready to move inside. He looks out into the distance, then back up at the stars, searching for answers he won't find. He's turned things over and over, wondering _how _he can get this war back on track, how he can do what he set out to do so long ago and finally go _home _.

The Freys don't feel like the fix to him. They feel like a bandage, a way to ignore the damage that has been done to his morale and his strategies, not like a way for it to actually _heal _. It's a short-term strategy, but Robb aches to find something bigger, better. Something that's more _certain _than the Late Lord Frey.

Unfortunately, answers elude him, and Robb pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from letting out a groan of frustration.

_There must be something I'm missing _, he thinks, as one fat raindrop falls on his head, then another. Defeated, Robb leaves his spot along the wall, and heads back inside.

* * *

At least the interminable waiting doesn't last much longer. The next day dawns, with Black Walder and Lothar Frey returning to Riverrun to present their father's response to Robb's plea for more men.

It's more positive than Robb had anticipated; not an outright refusal, but instead a set of terms and conditions that must be met first, and then the Freys will serve under the King in the North as they've been bid. Robb is set to accept on the spot, but pauses, reminding himself that he must think things through. After all, he'd barreled ahead with executing Lord Karstark, and his men all knew where _that_ had gotten him.

Robb had been so sure when he did it that his father would have been proud of him, for doing what was right instead of what was easy. But he's not so sure anymore.

He wonders what his father would do in _this_ situation instead. Ned Stark had successfully navigated Robert's Rebellion, and quashed Baelon Greyjoy's rebellion, and the gods could only guess what other stories he would have told Robb, if he'd lived long enough to share more stories. He had a feeling there were things his father had always meant to tell him when he was older, but… Well, they never got to _share _that older. Ned had left, and never returned, and all Robb was left with were the memories.

Robb thinks he remembers Ned Stark's lessons well - _the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, he who passes the sentence swings the sword, anything that comes after but is horseshit… _But nothing he can recall of what his father has taught him seems to apply here. Robb is still green when it comes to matters of political savvy, and he doesn't even have the great Eddard Stark here to guide him, to give him counsel when he's uncertain of how to proceed.

Who he does have is his mother, and when he casts a glance towards Catelyn Stark, she seems less certain about the terms. They're simple enough - a formal apology, Harrenhal, and Edmure as a replacement groom. Robb's not sure why his mother gives pause, but he can tell that she is holding back.

Perhaps she's just worried about her brother pushing back against his marriage. Or perhaps she simply doesn't trust Walder Frey, which is rich of her, considering that she's still considered treasonous among his camp for releasing the Kingslayer. Either way, Robb is prepared to ignore his mother's hesitance and charge forward with the plans. It's _imperative _to victory for them to have more men, and Lord Walder has more than enough to provide.

But just as Robb is preparing to reach forward and shake hands and offer the Freys his good faith, Grey Wind lunges between them and snarls.

Robb may not fully trust his mother any longer, but he _does _trust his direwolf. They have a bond that no one else can truly understand - at least, not anyone that's here in camp with him. He wonders about his siblings, if they have this _closeness _to their direwolves that he does, but he has not seen them in years to ask. He may never see them again, which means he may never know.

Just another reminder of the family that was taken away from Robb too soon. Another reminder of all that the Starks have lost.

And yet, Robb is certain that he only has much to _gain _from agreeing to terms with the Freys. But Grey Wind does not back down, even when Robb puts a calming hand on his wolf's back, and it is ultimately his distrust that leads Robb to ask, "Might we discuss amongst ourselves for a bit?"

* * *

It should have been a night of celebration, a night filled with hope… but instead Robb is pacing his quarters, thinking strategy, wondering again if there is another way. He goes through his map of Westeros, looking at all of the great houses, recalling where their loyalties lie.

There is no one who will pledge loyalty to House Stark unless there is a great turning of the tides. The Tyrells have married into the Lannisters; the Martells prefer to stay away from the politics of the rest of the kingdom where they can. The Targaryens are no more. His Aunt Lysa still refuses to send men to his cause; Stannis Baratheon has refused to bow to anyone, the Greyjoys have taken his home…

Another sigh escapes Robb's lips. He's been doing so much of that lately, and he can't even seem to find a path towards _escaping _a life of endless sighing. It seems that he'll be wearing this heavy crown of his until he dies, chasing down a victory that seems at this point as if it may never come.

"Maybe we need to stop thinking of trying to find friends, and instead we need to just… find our enemy's enemies," Robb mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Talisa doesn't truly seem to understand the dynamics that exist within Westeros, and even if she did, she doesn't concern herself with them. She is his queen, but the only part of battle she seems to care for is the aftermath, when she can run out onto the field and heal those who have been senselessly wounded.

_It _is all rather senseless, isn't it? Sometimes Robb thinks that with his sisters lost to him and his brothers gone, maybe he should just hang his head and leave it all behind. He could go North to the wall, join Jon, live out the rest of his days with his tail between his legs, with nothing to fight for…

And then Talisa comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder, and she whispers magical words in his ear, that there is a _babe _on the way, that there is to be a Prince or Princess of the North, and everything changes.

* * *

When Robb wakes the next morning, he goes straight away to see his mother. Even with his lingering anger towards her, there is no one he'd rather speak to first about their growing family. He wraps his mother in his arms, spinning her around delightedly, and for a few moments, Robb isn't a king, or a warrior. He is just a man who loves a woman, and that woman is going to be bearing his child.

For all the doubts she'd had about Talisa before, Catelyn seems delighted now. She shares in Robb's joy, and it's as if they almost forget that there is a world waiting with bated breath to see what their next move will be outside of the solar they are in.

But the world is still there, and Robb feels more urgency than ever to set it right. If he's going to have a son or daughter come into it, he doesn't want this war-torn wasteland that Westeros has become. He doesn't want a life on the road, never knowing what danger lies ahead.

Robb wants home, and safety. He wants Winterfell, back under his command after a much deserved victory over the people who had sought to destroy his family.

And so, as quickly as happiness had spread through him, it disappears, and Robb and Catelyn are right back to business.

* * *

In the beginning, Robb had felt like his mother made his decisions for him. He was so young, and still had so much to learn, and it had been easier to listen to her than to take chances of his own beyond his battlefield comfort zone.

That faith in her had been fractured when she'd released Jaime Lannister, and Catelyn had had to learn to listen to her son instead. He wasn't a child anymore; he didn't have that luxury. He was a king, and a commander, and it finally felt as if she'd accepted that as she listened to him mull over what to do about the Frey's.

"Mother, even if we take this deal, it doesn't feel like enough," Robb confides. The Freys aren't particularly impressive; he doubts that they will inspire fear in the heart of Tywin Lannister, no matter how many of them there are. And Greywind had been so uneasy - as if Black Walder and Lothar were hiding something. As if there were some kind of treachery, just out of Robb's reach of understanding.

He talks in circles - talks where they could attack next, talks who they could reach out to. But in the end, it still all feels _lacking _. Perhaps all they can do is take the deal with the Freys, and move one step at a time. There's no one else in Westeros to come to their cause.

It's when he says those words that his mother's eyes light up, and Robb furrows his brows in confusion.

"Why are you _delighted _by that, mother? There's no one to help us," he repeats, his heart feeling heavy.

"No one in _Westeros _," Catelyn repeats, and Robb wonders why she's taken to finishing his phrase for him. He knows what he said, they were his own words, and though she seems to be emphasizing the last word, he does not understand why.

Catelyn steps towards his table, where all the active pieces are in place on the map. There are other pieces, too, discarded to the side - players that don't matter anymore. They're gone, like Robb might be if he doesn't find aid to stop the Lannisters from wiping him out. Catelyn fingers the pieces until she picks one up, staring at it with that same gleam.

"Before King Robert died, he and your father had a falling out. He nearly came home to us, and all of this was nearly avoided," Catelyn says wistfully, and it's like a punch to Robb's gut. If only Ned Stark had come home, rather than stay in the Capital. It was too late for what if's, but sometimes, Robb drove himself crazy considering them anyway.

This was a what if he hadn't known of before, and he shoots his mother a quizzical look, waiting for her to continue.

"Robert and your father, it seemed, could not agree on the matter of what to do with the last living Targaryen's. There were two, you know - a boy, rumored to be as cruel and mad as his father was, and a girl…" Catelyn's voice trailed off. Robb's gaze never left his mother's face for even a moment, as he wondered what she was getting at here.

"They say Daenerys Targaryen came into the world on a stormy night, worse by far than the storms that have plagued Riverrun of late. They say that she was sold off to a _khal _, to raise an army for her brother to sail back and retake Westeros. And _last _they said… her brother was dead, and _she _had hatched three dragons…"

Robb knows this part of the story, too. Though they do not have Lord Varys the famed Spider, they do have their own whispers that reach them, and the Targaryens have been mentioned a time or two. But they're not _here _. They're dead, or gone, and Daenerys Targaryen is a half a world away, and there is no one to even _verify _that her dragons are real. It's all rumors - bits and pieces of information that most likely mean nothing at all. No one has taken her to be a serious threat; it was as if King Robert died and the girl had been wholly forgotten.

And if she was wholly forgotten…

"Mother, are you saying what I think you're saying?" Robb asks her, his eyes wide.

"You said it yourself, perhaps we need to find not friends, but people who share our enemies. Perhaps it's time to look for allies outside of Westeros instead."

Catelyn holds out the piece that she'd been examining - red and black, with the Targaryen dragon on it. Robb takes it in his hand, turning it over and over for a moment as he considers.

He'd agonized all night about what to do with the Freys, but this choice, Robb finds, is much easier. It's outside of the box, and it's risky… but sometimes the greatest risks have the greatest rewards.

"Let's send an envoy east to treat with this Daenerys Targaryen," Robb declares, slamming the red and black dragon back in play on the map.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything moves so fast after that that it almost feels like a fever dream.

When Robb goes back to the chambers he's sharing with Talisa, she looks at him, puzzled. It's been a while since she's seen an almost manic gleam in his eyes like the one he wears then - proof that it's been too long since the King in the North and his men have had a victory of any real consequence.

This isn't a victory, not yet. For all Robb knows, whoever he sends to treat with Daenerys Targaryen could be killed on the spot.

But underneath the weariness and the cynicism that has come from two years at war, Robb is still _Robb _. Once he was a boy brimming with hope, and now, despite how hard the world has tried to quash it, that hope still simmers under the surface.

Not too long ago, Westeros had had _five _kings. Now, it only has four, but those four fight each other bitterly, refuse to ally with one another, refuse to back down.

None of the others, though, seem to have considered that it might not be a king that wins this war.

Maybe all they need is a _queen _.

* * *

He tells Talisa what he and his mother have discussed, and she nods her head dutifully and takes it all in. If Robb is surprised that she doesn't have stronger opinions as he lays it out for her, he doesn't show it. He's too frenzied, too eager to move. Robb feels as though he has been sitting still, taking small losses, for so long. Even if this turns out to be a colossal loss, at least it's not more of the _same _.

When he's done, he walks over behind his wife and wraps his arms around her middle, letting his hand rest protectively over her stomach. She's not showing yet, but the reminder that there is a _babe _growing in their - _their _babe - has his whole face lighting up again.

It all feels surreal still, like something out of his imagination rather than something the world has truly blessed him with.

But then Talisa tenses, and Robb whispers against her skin, "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared for our child to come into this war-torn world," she admits, after Robb needles her to give an answer. They may not have taken _that _much time to get to know one another before wedding, but he knows her well enough to _know _not to leave her alone and pretend nothing is wrong.

Her words are like ice washing over him, because _he's _scared, too. Robb can't afford to show it most of the time, not when he has to appear strong for all the men who have pledged themselves to his cause. But he is afraid, and that's why he's so adamant about his new plan.

"You really think this girl across the sea could be the answer to all of this?" Talisa whispers, and Robb doesn't nod his head instantly.

Daenerys Targaryen is a wildcard. She is an unknown.

But his father had thought her worth protecting, and that's enough for Robb.

"I think that we won't know unless we try," Robb says, and he finally feels Talisa relax in his arms. It seems that answer's enough for her, too.

* * *

Despite Robb's enthusiasm, though, it couldn't be _that _easy. It never is.

His mother is on board, and Talisa will do whatever it takes to create a better world for their child - but his men are slower to trust the idea of chasing down a Targaryen. They don't like Southerners anyway, had already been reticent about him sending his mother to Renly Baratheon, but a _Targaryen _?

Targaryen's had burned his uncle and grandfather. Targaryens had _kidnapped _his aunt Lyanna.

And yet, Robb grows more and more certain that this Targaryen, at least for now, is their best hope. When all this is over, he'll be the King in the North, and he hopes that who rules in the South will have little impact on his life.

Right now, while it's the Lannisters? Lions will never leave wolves alone. There will never be peace. But maybe with someone new, there can be.

Robb lets his men rumble discontentedly for a time, then silences them with a raise of his hand.

"People are _not _their families. Robert Baratheon was my father's closest friend, and who cut off his head? A _Baratheon _," Robb reminded them. He knows that Joffrey is only a Baratheon in name, and not in blood, but it's the best argument that he can think of for now.

Beside him, his mother winces. He hates having to remind her of Ned's death, of what had _brought _them here, but he has to. Sometimes, remembering what they've lost is the only thing that makes it worth continuing on and risking losing even _more _.

"You better be right," Wyman Manderly finally says, and slowly, the other Northmen stop their griping. Their King has spoken, and they know how stubborn Robb can be when he sets his mind to something. It's too late to change his plan; now, his bannerman just have to do their best to help him make sure this _succeeds _.

* * *

They argue about it for a while - who should make the long voyage to treat with Daenerys Targaryen, who can be trusted with such a long journey and such a potentially precarious task. Understandably, no one suggests his mother this time; she hadn't exactly done much to inspire their faith when she'd gone to Renly's camp and come back with the woman who had been rumored to have _murdered _him. Respect for her had only gotten _worse _when said woman had escorted the Kingslayer out of their camp and gone so far as to _kill _their men to protect him.

Robb has to keep Catelyn with him wherever he goes, then. And the more the meeting wears on, the more it seems that where he's _going _is Essos.

Somehow, in all Robb's eagerness to secure a new ally, he hadn't imagined himself meeting her face to _face _. Not until she set foot in Westeros, at some meeting place or another, troops behind her ready to replenish his own. It was a naive thought, though. He can't stay here on the front lines forever. He's got a target on his head and dwindling support, and sending envoys hasn't been working for him thus far.

A queen needs to treat with a _king _, someone argues. It doesn't matter who; it seems that they'd gotten their arguing out of their system earlier. Now the second one of his council advises something, the others swell in agreement, and their one voice takes Robb by surprise. They are willingly sending their king away, and Grey Wind nudges his hand reassuringly, as if he can sense Robb's apprehension.

Things could fall apart while he's gone. But then, Robb thinks, they're already falling apart while he's _here _. He makes one last feeble argument that a king must be _seen _, one last stand in favor of staying behind - but his men turn it around, point out that this _dragon queen _has to see him if she's going to trust him.

It seems that matter is settled. In two days time, Robb and a handful of protectors will be on their way.

* * *

Robb spends the time between the council meeting meeting and his departure on strategies for the army left behind in Westeros. He feels wrong leaving them so undermanned, although they assure him that their position in Riverrun is secure. There are enemies on all sides at worst, though, and at best they have the Vale to the East, remaining neutral in all of this rather than aiding them.

_A potential ally on one side, and enemies on all the others _. Robb worries for what will happen while he's away, but it's a chance he has to take.

And so is going back to the Freys. It's his mother that suggests it, in the quiet of the solar. She doesn't do it before a council; it's just Robb, and Talisa, and Brynden and Edmure.

"Some of them were quite pretty, you know," his mother says encouragingly, and the Blackfish has a good laugh at that. A spawn of Walder Frey, pretty? It seems unlikely, and Edmure's expression is sour.

His mother needles at him, though. Reminds him that he hasn't taken a wife thus far, and if he hasn't found one to marry out of love by now it would serve him well to marry for an alliance. A promise of loyalty from the Twins will benefit the Riverlands in the long run, and it will prevent the Freys from falling into Tywin Lannister's lap.

Grey Wind still growls softly at the mention of House Frey, but when Robb rubs his nose affectionately and promises him that they're going on a _different _adventure, he seems to calm. Perhaps his reaction was all a coincidence - Robb starts to think that this war is so on edge that he's imagining things, like a direwolf's advice, communicated through growls.

"You not being there to apologize will be seen as an insult," Edmure groans, his last-ditch effort to get out of this marriage.

"Him _being _there with his wife would be seen as an insult as well. He'll write a letter of apology, and that will just have to suffice," Cat declares, feeling bolder in a room full of family than she had been in front of his bannermen earlier.

Robb's glad for her unfiltered opinion, and for her sway over Edmure. He declares it a done deal, and spends an hour penning his sincerest apologies to Walder Frey.

* * *

The dawn rises, gloomy as it's been for days now. Rain is pouring above them, and Edmure has set to work rallying the men that will head with him to the Twins. Robb has to trust that this will work, that this will raise them enough troops to at least _hold _their position until he can get back.

As they prepare to head west, to meet Roose Bolton and his company from Harrenhal in time for the wedding, Robb, Catelyn, Talisa, and half a dozen or so others plan to move east, to the port at Maidenpool where they will have their work cut out for them. Robb had hardly seen any of Westeros at all before the war had begun, and now he's going to be sailing across the narrow sea, to a whole continent he's never dared to dream of seeing.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he can't help but brim with excitement. There's a whole world out there to see, one he'd never imagined traveling. He'd been born to be a Lord, and circumstance had made him a _King _. King's didn't have such luxuries, to wander where they chose and see what they desired.

And while the cities of Slaver's Bay perhaps weren't his _first _choice, when has Robb ever gotten to choose for himself?

_Allying with Daenerys is a choice _, Robb thinks, and though his mother had suggested it first, it _is _his choice, isn't it? That thought brings him comfort as he kicks at his horse and starts to trudge through the muddy land between Riverrun and Maidenpool.

* * *

They are muddy. They are tired. The journey is wet and long and hard, just as everything seems to have been these past months.

But his pregnant wife rides by his side without a single complaint, and when the Blackfish and Greatjon Umber complain, Robb can tell it is in jest. He suspects that Brydnen Tully is much happier on the move, _doing _something, than he would be laying in wait at Riverrun. That job is better suited to Edmure; on their journey, Cat occasionally bites back a laugh when Robb wonders at what his uncle's bride might _really _look like.

Things feel _lighter _than they have in ages. Their position is still somewhat dire, but they're exploring a path that none of their enemies seem to have thought to wander down. They're taking a _chance _, and Robb feels, deep down, that this will work.

It _has _to work. He won't have his son or daughter slaughtered the way his father was. He won't lose his remaining sister, Lannister that she is now, or his mother, or even Jon up at the wall.

Daenerys Targaryen will be their _savior _, or else Robb is more of a fool than he'd ever imagined himself to be. Robb doesn't want to be a fool - he wants to be smart, and brave, and strong.

He _will _be all of those things. He _must _.

With a spring in his step that feels something like hope, Robb boards a boat with his weary group of travellers, and the journey to Essos - to _salvation _\- begins.


	3. Chapter 3

It's the longest Robb has ever been at sea, and he's not sure whose pacing starts first: his or Grey Wind's.

"No wonder your men were so keen to get rid of you - you can't sit still, boy," Brynden teases him, although the smile Robb gives him in kind doesn't quite meet his eyes. He knows it's unorthodox, that he's actually spearheading this mission. He doesn't know if it's a show of his men's faith, or a show that they've _lost _faith, that they're so willing to send him away.

Robb could probably dwell on that one question alone for the many weeks it takes them to get to Slaver's Bay. He also thinks if he dwells on it too long, he'll go mad.

Besides, there are many other things to dwell on.

Some things are _worse _. In his darkest moments, Robb dwells on what it must have been like for his father, just before his head was cut off. The terror Bran and Rickon must have felt, before Theon _burned _them and hung them from the castle walls. He wonders about Arya, and what cruel fate might have befallen her.

Most times, Robb's thoughts are more practical. He thinks about Sansa, and what they can do to extricate her from the Lannisters now that she is wed to one (_ nothing _, he thinks, _bar defeat them entirely _, _but isn't that why he's going to meet with Daenerys Targaryen in the first place? _). He thinks about Edmure's wedding, and what support the Freys will have offered in exchange. He thinks that the letter he wrote was very heartfelt, and hopes it moves them to be particularly cooperative.

Robb especially thinks about what lies directly ahead of them, because he knows that that's the most important thing he can focus on for now. As he leans against the rails of the ship and looks out into the horizon, as he takes meager meals with his even more meager crew, he thinks about how they'll win the Targaryen girl to their cause and what their strategy will be when they return to Westeros.

Sometimes, though… Sometimes, Robb really allows his mind to wander to happiness he's not sure he'll ever be allowed to have. Happiness that he wants _so _badly. He thinks about his unborn child, Eddard if it's a boy, maybe Lyanna if she's a girl (although he wants to ask Talisa if she has any family names they should incorporate, too, even if he knows his _heir _should probably bear a strong, Northern name. But he hadn't cared about that when he'd married her, had he? So maybe Robb won't care when they name their daughter, either).

He sees beyond that, too, in his heart of hearts. Robb doesn't just see the one child, he sees many. Back at Winterfell, running around with Sansa's children, Jon coming down to visit from the Wall, winter come and gone and a dream of spring in the air…

It's not the full life he'd once expected to have, but it's the best life he can hope for, now. And he hopes for it so, so much.

He just needs this to go _well. _They'll be in Slaver's Bay soon, and they'll meet the Targaryen girl, and maybe, with her help, they will be able to make Robb's dreams of a peaceful life in the North a reality.

* * *

The further South they get, the more restless Robb is. He's not used to this sweltering weather, and he's always tugging off layers of clothing and clawing at the fabric around his neck, where sweat is pooling from the heat.

Grey Wind must be even more miserable than Robb is, with his body covered in fur, and Robb wonders if perhaps he should have left his wolf behind. Grey Wind is an extension of him, though, a piece of himself that he isn't sure he could have beared to part with, so he does all he can to make it up to him, being dragged so far from home like this. Robb sneaks him all the water he can manage, and doesn't summon him anytime he seems to have found a breezy, shadowy spot to enjoy.

Even his mother, the 'Southerner' of the group, seems a bit put out by how warm it is, but rather than admit as much, she reminds Robb that the warmer it gets, the closer they are to their destination.

"Besides, boy, if you think this heat is bad, wait until that Dragon Queen is lighting you up with her dragon fire," Brynden quips, and Robb is almost irritable enough to snap at him for calling him _boy _. He's his great uncle, though, and there aren't hordes of Northmen here to watch and view it as disrespect. There's only his mother, his wife, Greatjon Umber, and a handful of others. A small group, a _loyal _group, and Robb figures there's no group he'd rather suffer with than this one.

Still, he thinks that night as he lies naked next to Talisa below the deck, too hot to even want to make love to her, he _might _should take a detour to update his wardrobe when they dock in Essos.

* * *

Just when it seems like the voyage will never end, and Robb will be on a boat drifting through the waves of the Summer Sea for all eternity, the captain of the ship announces that they've entered into the Gulf of Grief.

Robb watches the land on the horizon, his antsiness turning into anticipation now that he knows they are _close _. Last they'd heard of Daenerys before they'd departed, she'd taken the city of Astapor and had been on the march to Yunkai. Robb knows their information is outdated, though; they've been at sea for more than a month's time, and he can only imagine how far the Targaryen queen has made it now.

But soon, he will find _out _. Just a little longer now, and they will make landfall, and then their _true _journey can begin.

* * *

His mother stands to his right as they edge closer and closer to port; Talisa is to his left, squeezing his hand. Although his wife is _often _keen to show him her affection, Robb suspects this time it's less an act of love and more to keep Robb from tapping incessantly on the railing.

He's not used to so long without inaction, and his impatience is showing. Grey Wind paces behind him, almost as if he's trying to help get out some of Robb's nervous energy.

But they are _almost _there. Talisa takes their intertwined hands, and moves them to her stomach, where the bump of their child has just finally started to show.

It doesn't make him any less patient, but it _does _remind him why this is worth the time it's taking. It makes him all the more determined to make this trip _count _.

* * *

True to his word, Robb takes the briefest of detours to clad himself in clothes suitable for somewhere so far South. It feels strange, shedding his greys and blacks and heavier layers.

Under different circumstances, the lighter, looser clothing might make him feel _free _.

But Robb's circumstances have not changed. He's not here for pleasure, he's here for the fate of his family, his home… of the entire Seven Kingdoms, really.

They find horses, and food, and what information they can about where Daenerys Targaryen is now, and then they begin the hundred and fifty league ride towards Meereen, where they hope to finally catch up with the queen.

Maybe a lesser man would be worried that they wouldn't get there in time, and they'd lose their chance. But the more stories Robb hears, the more _faith _he has. The freed slaves that are still here are in awe of the woman who has freed them, and who has freed Yunkai, and who Robb is _confident _will stay in Meereen long enough to free them, too. She is a _liberator _. Whatever else she may have done, no one seems to be able to speak of anything but _that _.

Well, that and her beauty. Robb wonders what she will be like to behold, but he doesn't wonder for too long. He's already got the most beautiful woman in the world at his side, and he's not here to _gawk _at Daenerys Targaryen. He's here to _treat _with her, and his small group pushes forward, as fast as they can travel with a woman more than three moons into her pregnancy among their numbers.

* * *

They stop in Yunkai to replenish supplies, though Robb knows they could have made it fifty more leagues without them. Really, he's just curious. He wants to hear more about the woman he's to meet soon. He wants to _see _the change that she's made in this place that he'd never seen before, but that he senses is better for Daenerys Targaryen having been here.

Maybe he's naive. Maybe he believes too much in people he doesn't know. But it feels _incredible _to believe in something, and Robb is going to relish it for as long as he can.

Besides… he's seeing the _world _. Maybe it's selfish to enjoy just being another face in the crowd here for the time being. Only his accent gives him away as Westerosi. His clothes are indistinguishable, his face is one no one has seen before - Robb is unrecognizable, insignificant, and temporarily at _ease _. His shoulders untense, he laughs in a way he thought he wasn't even capable of anymore, and he just basks in the anonymity while it lasts.

* * *

It doesn't last long.

They find lodgings just outside of Meereen. They have seen horrible things along the way, crosses with dried blood cakes on them, tiny graves dug beside them. They have heard whispers that Meereen is not bowing to the foreign queen the way that the cities before it have.

Daenerys is nearby now, though. All signs point to it - the tell-tale signs that an army has marched here not too long ago, the whispers of turmoil on the horizon.

Robb wonders if he will be able to help her take the city. Offer her a battle strategy, win her trust… He thinks he will fall asleep and dream of the meeting that waits for them, but instead, he tosses and turns beside Talisa.

After what feels like an hour of more of the same, his pregnant wife stirs beside him, and Robb worries that he is interrupting her rest. He is so eager to be a father, even more eager than he is to end this war, and he doesn't need to disrupt his child's development by keeping its mother from getting enough _sleep _.

Robb leaves Grey Wind upstairs, instructing his wolf to guard Talisa and the child, and he retreats to the common area downstairs. It's stifling, though, and Robb steps out into the night. He looks towards the city walls, and wonders where Daenerys Targaryen is now. Is she outside the walls, too, waiting for her chance to strike? Is she inside the city, trying to peacefully transition it from slavery to freedom?

Robb wonders so many things that he forgets to focus on what is immediately surrounding him. He is unprotected, in a strange land, in the middle of the night, and any number of terrible things could befall him.

He doesn't hear anyone come up from behind him; whoever or whatever they are, they are like a shadow in the night. Robb doesn't notice until an arm is wrapped around his throat from behind, keeping him from being able to cry out, and a bag is dropped over his head.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll come quietly, Robb Stark," a hoarse voice croaks into his ear. And he does, save for one word, whispered under his breath as he is pulled in the direction of a horse and tossed unceremoniously onto it.

"_Grey Wind_," Robb whispers into the night, too quiet for his captor to hear, as his mysterious kidnapper carries him off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Apologies again for the delay in getting this chapter up! My goal is to post about a chapter a week, but I've had a friend in town and that's made my writing a bit slower. She leaves on Tuesday so I should get back on a more consistent posting schedule after that.

* * *

Robb's captor keeps the bag on his head, to keep him from seeing the path they take to wherever it is they head.

If he'd taken it off, he would have seen that the cover was entirely unnecessary. Robb's eyes have gone a milky white color, unseeing, uncomprehending.

Robb Stark is there in body, but in mind, he is gone.

* * *

He paces the inn on four strong, fur-covered legs. He raises his nose to sniff at the still air, but there is nothing else strange in it, no other scent that he hasn't taken in before.

His sharpened eyesight watches his wife, still breathing peacefully, unaware that her husband is gone. He stalks from that room to the next, and finds that his mother and his men are in conditions that are much the same.

They are _safe _. Whoever or whatever has come for him, they are not interested in attacking his family and his advisees. Whoever did this seems to have wanted Robb, and only Robb.

Even with the wolf instincts sharing his own, Robb is able to breathe a sigh of relief. He knows that his position as king comes with danger, and perhaps he'd even deserve it if something ever happened to him. He's taken so many lives in this war that he fights; he's far from the innocent boy he was before it began.

But Robb would never forgive himself if something happened to his lady wife, or even his mother, on his watch. He's brought them here when perhaps he shouldn't have, but leaving them behind had felt _wrong _. He wants to trust his men back in Westeros, but too many of them have let Karstark's words poison him. They view Talisa as the whore who lost the war, not the Queen in the North that she is.

And another part of Robb, a more selfish part, just wants her at his side always. Wants her love and her support, wants the escape of her embrace when things get difficult. This mission will likely wear on him, and he knows not when he will return to Westeros. He hopes it shall be soon, but would it have been soon enough to be there for the birth of his child?

His father wasn't there when Robb was born, and though he understands why, now that he's older, he doesn't want to repeat his father's actions. His father was a good man, an honorable man, but Ned Stark made mistakes, and Robb cannot repeat them if he wants to live longer than his father had.

Which he might not do, given that he has no idea where the _hell _he's being taken now, or by who. By the Meereenese, mistrusting another Westerosi monarch on their soil? By someone in Daenerys Targaryen's own camp? There is only one way for him to find out, and it isn't by letting his mind and spirit linger here, in the inn, with people who seem safe enough for the time being.

Robb guides the wolf's movements, muscles that had been coiled and waiting for danger now loping towards the door of the inn and out into the cooler air of a starry night.

He tracks the scent of man and horse, unfamiliar, unwanted. There are hoofprints in the sand.

Robb urges Greywind to follow the trail, to follow _him _wherever he has gone, and then he concentrates, slipping out of the wolf's body and into his own.

* * *

Robb thinks there must have been silence as he was ridden away from the inn where he'd been captured, but he cannot be sure. When he's inside of his wolf, his mind is elsewhere; his human body is blank, unseeing, unknowing.

He considers sitting in sullen silence, allowing himself to be taken until his wolf can catch up and pounce on them. But Robb has never been patient, so instead he asks, "Who are you? How do you know who I am?"

"Direwolves don't exactly go unnoticed in Essos, your Grace," a voice he's never heard before in his life says, and beneath his bag, Robb frowns. He hadn't considered the fact that his wolf might bring unwanted attention, but perhaps it's almost as conspicuous as those dragons of Daenerys Targaryen's that people in Westeros have heard about.

But this isn't Westeros, and the people of Essos talk of Daenerys liberating them more than they ever mention her mythical beasts. At least, they have to _him _.

"Guess I should have thought of that," Robb says, buying himself to think. This man, whoever he is, knows his name, has even called him _Your Grace _. His tone isn't unkind, and his words aren't mocking, but still - being stolen in the night doesn't exactly scream that this man is a _friend _.

The man doesn't offer any more information, but Robb is not satisfied. He presses further, feeling that his questions have gone unnoticed.

"How do you know of me? Where will you take me?" Robb asks again, and in the quiet as he waits for the man to reply, he focuses on the sounds around him. _Quiet _. The night is quiet, and there's no padding of paws as far as he can hear. The horse doesn't seem spooked, and he supposes he must have taken more time wandering the inn and checking on the safety of the others than he thought.

"I knew your father, Young Wolf. He was a good man. Are you?" the man asks, and Robb doesn't know if those words set him at ease or put him more on edge. His father had seen so much more of Westeros than he had, had known so many people that Robb had never dreamt of meeting until war had thrust him from his home and put him at the head of an army of his own.

"I hope to be," Robb admitted. He should feel more afraid, bound and blindfolded by a man he does not know, but instead he is intrigued. Who is this man? Why does he ask him such questions? He doesn't seem to mean Robb any harm, but he doesn't seem to want to reveal much to him, either.

"But I suppose that's for those around me to decide for themselves." People have put their faith in him so far. There's not much he can do to change this man's mind while he's his captive, though, so instead Robb just turns it around on him, seeing if he can press enough to finally find out more.

"Are _you _a good man? Because most I know don't whisk people away in the middle of the night, but maybe they do things differently in Essos," he says evenly. _Stay calm _. Panicking won't do him any good in this situation; he is already in it, and Grey Wind will be here soon. Robb just has to fight his more impulsive urges, and avoid giving this man any reason to want to harm him before his wolf arrives.

"It's not the most honorable way to do things, is it?" the man chuckles, and there's a bitter tone to it that Robb recognizes. He knows what bitterness sounds like, because he's felt plenty of it of his own, these past years. Starting with Bran falling out of the window, with his sisters and Jon leaving home - there's been so much to be bitter about since then, yet Robb hasn't let it consume him. If it had consumed him, he wouldn't be here, would he? Still trying, still hoping, still searching for a brighter future.

Robb misses a beat, not sure what to say in response, but he doesn't have to say anything. The man continues, "My honor hasn't always been rewarded. The false king didn't take my head for it the way he took your lord father's, but he did take my cloak, take what I thought was my life's purpose from me."

_His cloak _. Finally, Robb has been given some sort of substantial information to use, and he wracks his brain, trying to think back on lessons with Maester Luwin. Cloaks were for the Kingsguard; cloaks were supposed to be for life.

He means to wrack his mind for who had served as Kingsguard for Robert Baratheon and his 'son' after him, but he doesn't need to remember all their names. He only needs to remember _one _, the one that had been written in letters to Robb of what was going on in the capitol.

"Ser _Barristan _?" Robb asks incredulously, and though he can't see the action, he can feel the man's movements, feel the nod in response.

"What are _you _doing in Slaver's Bay?"

* * *

Robb is surprised that Ser Barristan actually _answers _his questions, after that. Perhaps he's being rewarded for piecing together who the man is, though Robb _wishes _the old knight would reward him by untying him and removing the cover from his eyes instead.

It's not so bad, though, now that his story fills the silence. Robb doesn't have time to dwell on how he hates not being able to see where they're going and if his direwolf is in the distance, but he focuses his energy on absorbing Ser Barristan's tale of seeking out Daenerys Targaryen instead.

If he _could _see Robb's eyes, he'd see the awe in them as he recounts what the dragon queen has done for the people here. Robb has puttered around Westeros, winning battles but gaining no real ground. He hasn't even saved his own _sisters _, while this girl here in the East has saves thousands upon thousands from slavery.

Maybe he's wrong, to come here and ask her to leave such a noble mission behind. Maybe Daenerys Targaryen belongs in the East, creating a better world.

But Westeros was meant to be her _home _, once. And Westeros needs to be better, too.

When Barristan is done and turns the question back on Robb, repeats the words "What are _you _doing in Slaver's Bay?" to the King of the North, he decides to tell him exactly that.

* * *

Ser Barristan asks even more questions of Robb than Robb has asked of him. It feels like a test, but every time the knight gives a satisfied hum at his responses, Robb feels buoyed, as if he's _passing _, maybe even with flying colors.

Robb's not here to remove Daenerys from the already crowded Westerosi monarch equation; he's not here to try and tell her that she will never have her crown. They have the same goal, of removing Joffrey and his puppeteer mother and grandfather from power, and any other issues that arise once that goal is met don't seem to worry the knight enough to give pause.

"You're sure this is really what you want to do? You still wish to meet with our queen?" Barristan asks, after his questions had been answered and a silence settles in between them.

"I've come all this way. I'd not turn back now," Robb confirms, and finally he's rewarded with the blindfold and the ropes being removed.

* * *

Robb is surprised to find that Grey Wind is trotting by their horses side. He glares accusingly at his wolf, and he thinks he hears the first real chuckle come from the serious man who's been riding him ever closer to the Queen's camp all this time.

"Your wolf knew you were in no real danger, Your Grace." Robb is struck by the feeling that he has earned Ser Barristan's respect, in this time that has passed between them. He could have switched to calling him _boy _like his men sometimes did, or even called him _Lord Stark _, since Robb knows he serves a woman who means to call herself queen of _seven _kingdoms someday.

The North was one of those seven. It won't be any longer, but from all he's heard so far, he has faith that Daenerys Targaryen will understand that. She's been freeing people all throughout Slaver's Bay, hasn't she? She sounds like a woman who will understand wanting freedom for his people, wanting to give them the lives they want and deserve without the South trying to dictate what they must be.

She sounds to be a brilliant woman, and as Barristan Selmy rides him into a mostly sleeping camp and they edge ever closer to the Queen, Robb wonders if he's even worthy of meeting with her, of asking her for her assistance. She is a Queen, and he is a King, but he doesn't feel like he is on her level at all. He feels a bit like a boy, playing at ruling, while she's actually _doing _something, making a difference, changing the world.

He doesn't have time to wonder if he's worthy or not, though. He's close enough - he has to be - because Ser Barristan sees that there is a light burning inside of the Queen's tent, and he dismounts the horse to approach.

"Stay here - allow me to speak to Her Grace," the knight says, and Robb threads his hands through Grey Wind's fur, his wolf a calming presence by his side as he waits to see how he is met by this girl he has come so far to see.

* * *

Robb can't make out what is said inside of the tent. It's spoken in hushed whispers, but he supposes that's better than raised voices, or a woman bursting out of the tent in the fiery rage of a dragon.

He's had time to wonder how this moment would go. _Lots _of time, where he remembers that her family burned his alive. Her dragons, as far as he has heard, are far from full-grown, though, and her actions speak louder than the Targaryen words of _Fire and Blood _.

Daenerys Targaryen won't harm him. Perhaps it's naive of Robb to think, but he feels it in his bones, that he is safer here, waiting to meet her, than he would be in Westeros right now.

The waiting is interminable, though. He's had so much time to build this woman up in his head, to dream of what she might be like, and now she is there, just on the other side of the flap of a tent.

Robb rubs his hand along Grey Wind's fur, rhythmic, calming. He lets his wolf's steadfastness ease his mind, and bring him strength and patience.

And then, the tent opens, and Ser Barristan announces, "Daenerys of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, soon to be Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons," as the most stunning woman Robb has ever seen emerges behind him.

* * *

It's not her beauty that Robb is taken with. She's very pretty, he supposes, just like people along his voyage have said, but he's seen beautiful women before. He's _married _to one, one who takes his breath away, who fills his heart with love at the sight of her.

What he feels when he sees Daenerys is different. It's the confidence radiating off of her that impresses him, the way she commands his attention instantly. If everyone feels this sense of power in her presence, it's no wonder she's made the gains that she has, and earned the string of titles that Ser Barristan has spouted off for her. In comparison, his own accolades feel like nothing.

"May I present to you Robb of House Stark, the Young Wolf, King of the North and the Trident," Ser Barristan says, and Robb resists the urge to bow down to her then and there. They are of the same level; a King does not bow to a queen.

Still, he is nearly overcome by her, this woman that he hopes to be his savior. He opens his mouth to speak, to thank her for receiving him in the middle of the night like this, but she beats him to it, taking charge of a situation in a way that Robb bets is customary for one who's accomplished so much at so young an age.

"I thought the last king in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen some 300 years ago," Daenerys says, her voice unreadable. She's a mystery he's been trying to solve for weeks, thinking of her constantly, looking forward to this moment. It would have been disappointing, he supposes, if she'd been transparent from the first after all his wondering.

"Your Grace, if the King you were supposed to be serving was a bastard born of incest between two of the most despicable people in the Seven Kingdoms, you would seek independence from them as well," Robb tells her, because he may as well cut to the chase. They have the same enemies, he and Daenerys. It's why he's taken this leap of faith, coming here to her.

"Yes, I suppose I would," Daenerys agrees, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. He's not sure if it's at his response, or if it's because Grey Wind has wandered from Robb's side to sniff her. She doesn't tense at the wolf's closeness - she's a woman who seems to be hiding nothing, so why should she fear not being trusted by his beast?

Besides, Robb supposes a direwolf hardly sparks fear in a heart that has walked through flames and come out on the other side with three dragons. Grey Wind's sniffing ceases, and after a brief pause he licks Daenerys's outstretched hand instead, and her smile only grows wider.

That smile is enough to wash all Robb's fears away.

"Well, Robb of House Stark," she says, and he takes notice of the way she carefully avoids using his title of King. His mother and his advisors aren't here to try and point out disrespect, and he thinks for a moment that maybe it's for the best, that Ser Barristan sought him out and vetted him before bringing him to his queen. Robb relies so much on his advisors, but perhaps this is one thing he's better off doing on his own.

"I suggest you come inside and tell me precisely why you've come all this way."


	5. Chapter 5

As Robb follows Ser Barristan and Daenerys into her tent, he has to keep reminding himself that they're not so different, he and the Dragon Queen. They're of a similar age — too young to be fighting a war with thousands of men at their backs, if you ask Robb — and with similar objectives, though Robb's not sure what _her _reasons are for wanting Joffrey off the Iron Throne.

Is it justice tinged with revenge, like Robb's? Or is there something more to it than that?

He wonders if she'll tell him. He _prays _she'll tell him, because if he's come all this way only to have this queen be stone-faced and unwilling to open up discourse with them, then Robb will feel as though he's wasted his time.

Robb looks around, perhaps taking it all in more than he should. It's just like any other tent — a cot for sleeping, although with considerably less furs than he's used to back in the colder climates of Westeros. There's a table with a map, just like his own war table, and there are apparently very interesting smells that Grey Wind is sniffing at from beside him.

Sometimes, he envies his wolf his senses, but when they're camped too close to somewhere where there's just been a battle, he never does. Robb wonders if Meereen already stinks of death, or if perhaps it's her supposed dragons than he's picking up a hint of.

"Do they not have tents in Westeros?" Daenerys finally asks him, a hint of amusement in her voice. He wonders how she can be so confident, in a moment like this. Robb's always _playing _at confidence, acting like he knows what he's doing, acting like he's sure of the decisions he's making, but right now, he's terrified. This has been a big decision that he's made, an unconventional one, and now he's in the middle of a foreign monarch's camp, without a weapon or any of his party even knowing where he is.

"Quite the opposite, actually. If I hadn't seen what your camp was like, I'd almost be able to pretend I was still _in _Westeros," Robb admits, willing some of the tension to ease out of him.

Tense, awestruck — none of the things he's been feeling around Daenerys Targaryen are particularly useful when it comes to treating with her, but Robb digs within himself to find words. His mother isn't here to whisper them in his ear, and his advisors aren't here to chime in for him. It's only Robb, Grey Wind, Ser Barristan, and this light-haired, bright-eyed girl who's apparently already liberated half of Slaver's Bay.

"Westeros doesn't have slavery, though. Or dragons," Robb adds, and mayhaps what he's doing could be considered beating around the bush. But feeling out this woman, seeing if she's all the things he built her up to be during his journey or if she's something else entirely, is important, too.

For the first time in the few minutes since he's met her, the queen misses a beat. She doesn't reply instantly, mulling over what he's said, then finally she replies, "Meereen won't have slavery for long, either. And dragons will come to Westeros again."

She smirks as she says it, but Robb doesn't mind the hint of smugness there. She _deserves _to be smug, because he thinks there's a significance in it, and the picture she's laid out for him feels _right _. Saving the slaves in Essos first, then taking a throne that she feels is hers after that. The rumors all say she's mounting an army in the east, that she's trying to gather strength before she returns to overthrow the Seven Kingdoms and take the crown, but the order she's listed those priorities in reminds Robb that what she's doing here is about more than just gathering men to fight for her.

She sounds like a woman who wants to _help _people. That's all Robb had wanted when this began, too. To help his father, his sisters, maybe even the smallfolk of King's Landing.

Daenerys Targaryen is here in Essos, helping people more than Robb's ever managed to.

But maybe with her help, they'll be able to bring change to Westeros, too. Maybe not to this extent, but they can make it better than it is now.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Robb tells her as Grey Wind makes himself comfortable at Robb's feet. Daenerys eyes his direwolf, then him, not sure what to make of these things from the North that are now in her tent, one acting entirely too familiar and the other perhaps being more cryptic than she'd like.

"And why is that, Robb Stark?" she asks him, fixing him with a suspicious violet stare. "Last I recall, the Starks were not particularly fond of Targaryen rule in Westeros. Your father was in open rebellion, helping the usurper Robert Baratheon to remove mine from the Throne, is that correct?"

Her gaze is steely, and Robb can tell she _knows _it's correct. She's not really asking him, she's just making a point, and Robb would prefer it if she'd speak directly — but that's not the way of politics. He knows that; he's been told it so many times now that it's burned into his brain.

He almost wishes that his father had had more courtly grace, more aptitude for this that he'd passed on to Robb, but it is what it is. Robb's done things his way so far, and aside from the blunders of the last few moons, it's worked fairly well for him.

"Lying wouldn't be a good place to start, _Daenerys Targaryen _," Robb replies, using her full name without title the same way she's done for him. He's reminded _himself _that they're equals, strictly speaking; this is his way of reminding her, as well. "So yes, my father _did _rebel against yours. Only after he'd burned my uncle and grandfather alive, and after your brother had kidnapped and raped my aunt."

It's a history that he'd considered, during his journey here. His mother had warned him that it was a point of contention, and Robb had always assumed that Catelyn would be by his side to smooth it over when the time came. But she's far from here, back in the inn, probably soon to wake and worry sick about her missing son.

He'll just have to make this quicker, then.

Before he can barrel forward, though, Robb's chance to make this situation either better or worse is taken from him.

"Pardon me, your Grace," Ser Barristan interjects. "But it might interest you to know that _part _of Ned Stark's fall from grace as Hand of the King was because _he _fought in favor of letting you live. Enough had been taken from your family; Robert Baratheon didn't need to take your life as well."

Robb isn't shocked to hear that — it sounds like the father he knew and loved, to not punish a daughter for her family's crimes — but Daenerys, on the other hand, seems like she _is _shocked.

"It seems there's much for you to learn about the people you plan to rule. Knowing their names and their holdings, it doesn't get you nearly so far as knowing their character." Robb doesn't mention that what he knows of the character of the lords and ladies of Westeros comes largely by hearsay — he's at least been there, and if not lived it himself, lived close enough to it to have this leg up on Daenerys Targaryen.

"And do you intend to be the one to teach me, Robb Stark?" Daenerys counters, her eyes slightly narrowed at him. She doesn't trust him yet, but Robb also hasn't had a chance to tell her what he really wants yet. Why he's really here. They're playing this game, dancing around each other and sizing each other up, but neither one of them really has the measure of the other yet.

"Because I want to know if you have both," Robb answers her truly. He's spent his travel time assuming that he'll trust in her, assuming that she'll be everything he's hoped she is — but Robb knows that if she gives him reason to doubt her, he'll abandon this plan as best as he possibly can. He won't follow through on a choice if he knows that it's wrong.

Maybe he's being too bold, pushing the boundaries too far, but Robb finishes his thought all the same. "You have the name; do you have the character to sit on our throne, too?"

* * *

The silence his comment is met with stretches, but it's not uncomfortable. She doesn't seem angry, that he'd question her claim — he doesn't _know _her, why _should _he blindly believe in her? The people of Westeros don't know her yet, either, but the people of Slaver's Bay have come to believe in her as they've come to see what she stands for. Westeros could be the same, if she's sincere in her intentions.

Daenerys continues to eye him curiously. Robb has Grey Wind with him, and he seems to have won Ser Barristan's favor to an extent. Even if he has misstepped, Robb believes that the worst that will come of it is that he will be escorted out of the camp and told to make the long journey home.

"And you wouldn't take that honor for yourself?" Daenerys finally asks, as if he's spoken in some tongue she doesn't understand. As if it's unfathomable, that he would fight this war of five kinds and not even stake a claim on the kingdoms should he find himself victorious. If these talks go further, he'll want to talk about that, to understand if she really thinks that everyone wants a throne or if his cause has just been misrepresented to her in the same way that hers has been muddied and confused in reports that have reached Westeros.

"I'd see justice done and then return home, Your Grace," Robb says, finally testing out the title, seeing what it might be like someday, calling this woman queen. She sits a little straighter at his comment, as if she's buoyed by him even considering her ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

_Six _, he corrects himself. The Northmen have fought for their independence, and though he thinks they'd be willing to give it back under the right circumstances, he can't be sure these _are _those circumstances, not yet. They've bowed to a Targaryen before, but he won't bow to a Targaryen now, not yet at least.

He _does _want to work with one, though. To stop the Lannisters, to save his sisters, to restore peace to the kingdoms and finally find peace for himself again. If she is amenable to Robb and his cause, Robb thinks that perhaps he and Daenerys Targaryen could be very worthy allies.

"I care only for ruling the North, as they have chosen me to do," Robb continues as the candlelight in the tent starts to mix with the light of dawn beginning to seep in through the cracks.

"And for my people, some of which might be worried when they wake and find that I am missing," he admits, casting a glance towards the door to the tent. He doesn't know if he's making enough progress — if he leaves now, will she even want him to come back? Robb is unsure; he's unsure in so many things that come along with his responsibilities of being a king since he was barely more than a boy.

"And who have you brought with you here to Essos, my Lord? Surely I would have heard if you'd arrived with an army at your back," Daenerys says, arching an eyebrow at him. He's puzzled for a moment, wondering why he would have brought an army with him, when he has no intention of attacking this woman. Only _talking _with her, as he's doing now.

"Forgive me, but news from Westeros is sparse and most of the news I receive focuses on Stannis Baratheon and Joffrey Lannister," Daenerys says, interrupting his confused pause. "I'm afraid I still don't _truly _grasp your intentions, and it would be a shame if you departed before making them clear."

Robb resists the urge to run a frustrated hand through his hair. Talks like these, ones where he has to dance around the issue and wait for the right moment to say what he means, they make him tired, and he's had little sleep as it is. But rather than give away his frustration, he shifts his weight, moving one foot to rest under Grey Wind's comforting presence.

"Then perhaps there is a messenger I can send, so that my… delegation does not worry," Robb says, and then with a slight nod from Barristan Selmy, encouraging him to go on, he does. One of them will have to break first, to open up, and Robb doubts that this woman who has been even-tempered so far is like to go and roast his family alive if he admits they are here.

"I fear that my mother might wake the whole country with her screams," he tells her, a bit sheepishly, "And that wouldn't do, my wife needs her rest. It's been a long journey for her, and she is showing more and more everyday."

Daenerys softens at the mention of his family, although he sees something else in her eyes, too. Sadness? Longing? Robb might be projecting, though; it's how he feels, when he thinks of Bran, and Rickon, and his father, all dead and gone now, all lost before their time. He even longs for Sansa, and Arya, and Jon, not lost but lost to him for too long now.

"You are lucky, to be able to keep your family close, Robb Stark. My only family is my dragons, now," Daenerys tells him, her voice clipped, like she's trying hard not to say too much. She doesn't answer his request, about sending a messenger, but if time stretches on much longer, then he'll just have to ask again, or perhaps send Grey Wind back, as a sign to his entourage that he is all right.

"I would be luckier, if I found a queen to overthrow the imposter that keeps my sisters prisoner in the capitol. Someone who the North would be proud to help put on the Throne," Robb tells her, and the Targaryen queen's smile grows a bit brighter. There's a warmth to it that he rarely sees when he's surrounded by only his men and the war that rages on around them.

"Then let us discuss what you expect from such a queen," Daenerys says, sweeping towards her war table and indicating that Robb should join her in taking a seat. It indicates a level of comfort, that she'd invite him to join her, rather than standing awkwardly across the tent from one another.

Robb makes to cross the distance and join her, feeling hope creep in that this really is working after all.

And then, they are interrupted by a gruff male voice from outside the tent. "Might I enter, your Grace?"

Daenerys nods to Ser Barristan, who opens the flap of the tent for her, ushering in a man with blonde hair that is grey in patches, who wears full armor and carries himself as if he is a knight. He doesn't seem to notice Robb in the room, his eyes only for his queen as he says, "I apologize for coming so early, Khaleesi, but I come bearing news from Westeros. Another of its false kings is dead."


	6. Chapter 6

"I come bearing news from Westeros. Another of its false kings is dead."

Perhaps the words should hit Robb harder than they do. Instead, he finds the first thing he notices is the man's Northern accent — it is not a sound he expected to hear _here _, so far from home. He scrambles to recall what he knows about Daenerys Targaryen and her supporters, but he's afraid it's not much.

He'd been caught off guard by Barristan Selmy already, and now there's a Northman reporting directly to the queen at odd hours of the morning.

The man is staring at his queen — his _khaleesi _, he'd called her — awaiting her reaction, but Daenerys's violet eyes flicker to Robb. He realizes she's expecting a reaction out of him, but he's been at war so long, he's almost numb to it. So many kings roam Westeros these days, and what does it matter which of them has died?

He supposes if it's Balon Greyjoy, then perhaps Roose Bolton's bastard will hold Winterfell for him until he's returned, but it makes little difference. Bran and Rickon are already dead; Robb cared more for the people in it than he cares for the castle itself.

As for the others… does it even really make a difference, which one is dead? If it's Stannis Baratheon, the Lannisters still hold power. If it's Joffrey, the Lannisters still hold power. It's not the bastard child that sits on the throne that's the threat, it's the people he is a puppet for. Tywin and Cersei Lannister are the real dangers here, and he doesn't hear this vaguely familiar man announcing _they _have departed from this world.

Robb's eyes betray no emotion, and Daenerys follows his cue. She keeps her composure as she turns her attention back to this advisor of hers. Robb hasn't gotten a proper look at his face yet, but as soon as the dragon queen speaks, he no longer needs to.

"Go on, Ser Jorah," she instructs, and Ser Barristan's hand goes to the hilt of his sword. A good knight anticipates when there might be trouble, and Robb can understand why. His recognition of the name is _instant _. He may not remember the name of every man throughout the course of history that he's learned in lessons, but he _does _remember tales of Joran Mormont.

The man has eyes only for Daenerys, and Robb finds that curious. This man before them had fled Westeros, fled the sentence to die passed by Robb's own father. He'd dishonored his family, and the North by selling poachers into slavery to pay for his wife's expensive tastes, and now he is here, serving a woman who aims to _abolish _slavery.

It's a testament to how much the young queen before him has impressed Robb in this short time that he does not question her character, for keeping the company of such a man. Instead, he wonders if Daenerys even _knows _what Ser Jorah has done in the past, or if she was so relieved to find a friend in this world that she's never bothered to learn what past crimes might have driven him _here _, to her.

Still… how can a man who had enslaved people _himself _possibly be a loyal servant to a woman who _liberates _slaves? It does not make sense to Robb, but many things in this war don't, and it's hardly the matter at hand at the moment. Perhaps he should execute this man later, carry out the sentence his father had passed so long ago - but it will hardly impress his potential ally if he draws his sword and murders her companion on the spot.

Robb's shoulders are tensed, and he grips Grey Wind's fur as the direwolf's shackles rise in Ser Jorah's presence. Ser Barristan still keeps his hand on the pommel of his sword, just as a precaution, but Robb resists his hot-headed streak and waits for the man to answer his queen.

Robb's emotions may be even-keeled at the moment, surprisingly so in the face of potentially game-changing news, but this traitor is brimming with adrenaline at the news that he carries. So much so that he still has not given his attention to anyone but his queen, and he's nearly breathless as he tells her, "Robb Stark, your Grace. The King in the North has been killed."

Robb could almost _laugh _at that. He's only been away from his men for a few weeks, and there are already rumors of his death. He should have anticipated that his absence would cause such a stir among his enemies, but it will only make them all the more shocked when he returns, hopefully with Daenerys and her army at his back. Or his side, rather — they're equals, aren't they? Robb hopes to be equals, he doesn't want to try and control this queen or stop her from being exactly who she seems to be.

Daenerys, to her credit, just arches an eyebrow at her advisor. "Is he, now?" she asks, and Robb can see some of the confidence ebb out of Jorah Mormont. "How fascinating. And here I was under the impression that Robb Stark was standing in this very tent with us right now instead."

Jorah whirls around, _finally _registering that he is not alone with his queen and Ser Barristan, and his eyes are wide at the sight of the direwolf by his side. Grey Wind growls ferociously, coiled and ready to attack, but Robb raises a hand to his wolf. "Grey Wind, heel," he commands, and though the direwolf still remains on edge, he heeds Robb's warning and doesn't move to get any closer to this traitorous Northman.

The stare he fixes Robb with is much different than the awed gaze he had for his queen. Robb recognizes the suspicion in his eyes as he stares at him — he's in light, Essosi clothing, having shed his warm Westerosi attire after he'd arrived. But despite not wearing the armor of House Stark proudly, he sees Jorah Mormont recognize the auburn Tully hair, the bright Tully eyes, and the stubborn set of Ned Stark's jaw. And the direwolf… he cannot ignore the direwolf, the one that everyone knows the King in the North brings with him into battle.

Ser Barristan gives a nod of confirmation, that he believes Robb _is _who Daenerys claims him to be, and he thinks he sees fear flit in Jorah's eyes at that. Robb glowers at him — _good _. He _should _be afraid, to be in the company of a member of the family whose sentence he had shirked.

Before tensions can rise, though, Daenerys clears her throat, and instructs them to join her at the war table. All three men obey, and Daenerys says curiously, "Now, Ser Jorah, _do _tell me how my new friend supposedly _died _."

* * *

What Robb had initially assumed was just lies and folly turns out to be a _nightmare _. If Jorah Mormont's information is right, then the majority of Robb's men have been killed at the Twins at Edmure's wedding — the exact number is unknown. It seems that the messenger cared mostly for the fact that a body with a wolf head sewed atop it was paraded around in the aftermath, and that Walder Frey had claimed the man was Robb himself.

Robb hadn't actually _met _Walder Frey when his mother had negotiated her terms with him. If he didn't feel sick and numb in turns, he'd wonder if the man actually _thought _he'd killed the King in the North, or if this was an elaborate ruse.

What does it matter, whether it's a deliberate lie or misinformation? Either way, Roose Bolton never intended to _hold _his home for it, he intended to _take _it. He's named himself Warden in the North, presumably with the backing of the Lannisters — and Robb had considered him one of his most trusted advisors. He'd had a traitor in his midst for all that time, directing him to fight the wrong battles, lulling him into a sense of security that has cost him nearly _everything _.

Robb doesn't have a home to go to. He doesn't have an army anymore to help them take it. If this information is correct, he's got nothing but his name and a new reputation as the king who _lost _the North.

He cannot lose his composure in front of this strange dragon queen, one of Westeros's bravest knights, and a Northern traitor. He _will _not. But Robb feels so close to coming undone.

He thinks back on the day he found out his father had lost his head. He'd nearly ruined his sword, hacking at a tree in his grief. He wants to do that now, but he has no sword at his side, he doesn't know _when _he last saw a tree, and he's not even sure he'd be able to stand up right now without his legs wobbling and betraying him. His men may not have been his family, but they are the ones who chose him, who followed him, and they're _lost _. So many lives gone, and for what?

He still doesn't have his sisters back. His brothers are gone. His home is gone. The North… everything he's ever known, everything he's ever loved, Robb has lost it, and the grief consumes him.

Is it even _worth _it, being here, safe? He should have died with his men. Robb should have given his life for his cause, the way that so many others apparently did.

Robb feels ripped in two, and yet Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah seem to send a barrage of questions his way. They ask how many he commanded, what ground he was in control of, whether there had been signs that Roose Bolton was planning to betray their cause… but Robb's tongue feels heavy, and useless. It is like a dam, and if he uses it to speak, he fears the dam may break, and coming unravelled in front of them is not the behavior of a king.

But is he even really a king anymore?

Daenerys is the one who seems to understand his grief. She deflects their questions, instead explaining to Jorah Mormont how Robb Stark had come to be in their company, and how he had caught her on the brink of seizing Meereen. She even goes over a couple of proposed strategies for sacking the city, although Robb barely hears them. Everything around him right now is just noise roaring in his ears, noise that he can't make sense of.

His father, gone. His brothers, gone. His army, gone. His kingdom, gone. Gone, gone, gone, _gone gone gone_. The word bounces around his mind until it's all that he can think, all that he can hear.

Whatever conversation the queen had been having with her counselors has hit a lull, and the silence is maddening. _Everything _is maddening, as Robb aches from what he has lost and crumbles at the thoughts of what he might have done differently.

Grey Wind has been pacing the tent, as restless and overwhelmed as his master. How Robb longs to slip away, to have his mind and his wolf's become one. To feel Grey Wind's raw strength, to run on four legs into the night, until he is too exhausted to think, too exhausted to feel.

He cannot, though. He is inside of a tent in a strange land with strange company, and he shouldn't be here. This was a mistake - he has nothing to offer now, no hope of allying with this queen who has so much support and who seems to have only success where Robb has only failure.

"I have to return to Westeros," Robb declares abruptly, standing from his feet. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

It's all he can bear, to get those words out as he turns to go. He can't be here any longer, in this tent with all eyes on him, with strangers watching as he processes a tragedy on a scale that he has never known before in his life.

He makes a move to leave, but he should have known that it won't be that simple. _Nothing _is simple, nothing is easy — Robb's life feels like it has been one mess after another in the years since King Robert set foot in Winterfell.

"You will do no such thing," Daenerys Targaryen declares, as Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah stand to prevent his departure. If he wanted to, he could set Grey Wind on them, watch his wolf tear them to shreds until he is away.

But he doesn't even know how to get back where he came from, much less back to a home that holds nothing for him anymore. And more than that… something in the queen's voice compels him, and Robb sags with defeat as he sits back down at the table.

"If you would allow me to speak privately with the King in the North," Daenerys instructs. It's the first time she's called him by that, instead of _Lord Stark _or even just _Robb _, and he can tell she doesn't mean it unkindly, but it leaves a bitterness in his mouth to hear it. Why call him a king now, when it's obvious that his claim is gone? That he's lost everything he's gained and more?

Ser Barristan obliges, heading to a post just outside of her tent. Jorah Mormont lingers, as if he doesn't trust Robb, but Grey Wind snarls at the man before going to stand by his queen. Daenerys pets him gently, like she had earlier when they'd first met, and fixes her protector with a stare that makes him leave, as well.

It's just the two of them now, an unconventional meeting between two people displaced far from their homes, two people who thought to call themselves royalty — but all Robb feels like is a little child, wishing someone could solve this all for him.

Daenerys Targaryen still has one hand running through Grey Wind's fur, and she surprises Robb by reaching out to rest her other on top of his. A show of comfort for someone who was naught but a stranger to her an hour ago, and if he weren't so consumed by his grief, he'd add it to the list of reasons why she seems to be a compassionate and worthy ruler.

Robb is torn between wanting to laugh and to cry. He might finally have found someone worth backing, someone to throw his support behind for the throne, but now he has no support to give.

"You've come all this way; what good would going home do you now, Robb Stark?" she asks him.

His throat still feels thick with the emotion of it all, but he manages weakly, "You've just witnessed one of the worst moments of my life. I think you can just call me _Robb _."

She looks like she wants to smile at that, but she doesn't, perhaps out of respect to Robb and the grief that he's feeling now.

"_ Robb, _then. Why go back now, before we've properly mounted the army that will make the Lannisters pay for what they've done?"

Robb doesn't want to seem stupid or weak in front of this queen, but he feels that he falls short of that, because he blinks at her incredulously.

"What do you mean?" he asks her hesitantly. He's a fallen king who's now here at her mercy, and he doesn't know what _exactly _comes next, but he's sure it involves him being used as some kind of pawn now that he has nothing to offer her.

Daenerys, though, doesn't seem to agree. "We're one and the same now more than ever, aren't we?"

Funny how he'd been trying to convince himself of that very thing just before Jorah Mormont's news had changed everything. Now, he's not sure his mind could even piece together their similarities anymore, though he knew that they had them. He'd been sure of it in his bones not so long ago.

"Are we? What am I now, a prisoner? I don't have an army back home to support you. I'm nothing more than a name and a bargaining chip."

Daenerys hums thoughtfully. Grey Wind has settled next to her rather than next to Robb, and he wonders how his wolf can feel so calm when he's still in such turmoil. He wants to go home and see it for himself, the ruins of his army, whether anyone has been left behind. He wants to show his face and make sure Tywin Lannister knows he hasn't really won.

He wants to make them feel what he's feeling now. Or better — he wants to end them, so they can't feel anything at all anymore.

"I won't insult your intelligence by saying that your name doesn't matter. It certainly would help my case if I came back to Westeros with Robb Stark at my side, wouldn't it? If I remember correctly, the North is by _far _the largest of the seven kingdoms; they would want their rightful king back, would they not?"

Robb doesn't know if they'd want him back or not, but her statement strikes him. Is that what she thinks? That the people of Westeros want a rightful Targaryen ruler back on their throne? Is that why she's so determined to be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or is it something else?

If he stays here, he supposes he'll have more than enough time to find out.

Daenerys's hand is still resting softly on top of his, unmoved, and he's glad for the warm pressure of it. It's a force that is grounding him, a reminder that someone is there for him and seems to care about what has happened. Someone who even seems to think she _understands _.

He likes that Daenerys better than the one who's mentioning the politics of having him by her side right now, but he knows it's necessary. She has to consider all her options, just the way that he had considered his before coming here — and hopefully she'll consider them _more _than Robb has, lest she end up in a strange land, betrayed and overthrown when he wasn't even there to stop it from happening.

"You're not my prisoner, Robb. You wanted to be my ally, did you not? So be my ally. There's nothing for you in Westeros right now. Stay here, help me do what is right by the slaves that live inside of these walls, and then when that is done, teach me what waits for me in Westeros. Help me make sure that I deserve to be the one to rule them all," Daenerys asks, her voice something between a command and a soft plea.

Robb has a choice, he thinks. He _could _be rash, he could go back… but nothing good waits for him there. There's nothing he can accomplish, if Jorah Mormont's reports are true.

Daenerys gives his hand one more squeeze before letting go and folding her hands on the table in front of her instead. Grey Wind whines slightly as she stops petting him, and Robb would be amused that his direwolf has grown so attached to the dragon queen so quickly if he weren't too busy mulling over his choice.

"It's not just my home we need to take back now, Robb. It's also yours. Are you with me, or are you not? I'd hate for you to have travelled all this way for nothing," she urges, and Robb doesn't need his advisors to back his decisions right now. It felt like Daenerys Targaryen was their only hope before, and he _knows _Daenerys Targaryen is truly their only hope now.

"I'm with you," he agrees, reaching his hand out to shake hers. They are two people who have lost their families, their homes, their places in the world — but they are also two people who want what is right. Who want justice, and a better world.

Now, they are two people who are decidedly on the same team.

"Good. Now I believe you have an envoy who needs to be informed of our new arrangement?" she asks, and Robb nods his head.

* * *

Daenerys offers to send Jorah Mormont with him, to escort him back to his inn, but Robb vehemently refuses. No matter _what _news Jorah might bring, he will not be welcome among the Northmen, his own cousin Dacey among them.

In the end, Daenerys sends him with Barristan Selmy again, a face he is sure will be much more welcome. Not that a warm welcome will be long lived — Ser Barristan and Robb mount _separate _horses this time as they retrace their path from earlier, hearts heavy with the news they must deliver as they ride into the rising morning sun.


	7. Chapter 7

The ride back to the inn feels much longer than the journey _to _Daenerys's camp had felt. Robb would marvel at the fact that being _kidnapped _had felt preferable to being the bearer of such bad news, but he's too busy feeling wracked with guilt.

So many Northern lives, _wasted _, all because they had chosen to follow Robb Stark into war.

He'd had friends, distant family, loyal soldiers — and there was no way Robb could know how many of them were gone now. He hadn't even been there to die with them, like a good leader should have been. He'd been _here _, desperately hoping for something to help them turn the tide of the war, and now there was nothing to do but look forward to a time when he and Daenerys could return to Westeros and do what she'd said they would do: take back what was _theirs _.

It was one of the only things keeping him going in that moment. He hadn't properly avenged his father, not yet, but now there were so many more souls to avenge, and he would _do it _, he _had _to.

The other things keeping him going, his mother and his wife, waited inside of the inn, and Robb moved his legs as fast as he could manage, willing himself to get inside and speak with them of all he had learned.

He finds them gathered downstairs, his mother looking absolutely frantic; worry is etched into Talisa's face, as Dacey Mormont throws her hands into the air, exasperated. Greatjon Umber and his great-uncle Brynden are leaned back and watching it all unfold, seemingly much less worked up than the women in their presence, while the handful of other men that have accompanied Robb are missing — either still abed, or perhaps off looking for him, at someone's command.

"She's right about him being fine, Cat," the Blackfish says when he locks eyes on Robb, shooting a wink at Dacey as his mother turns toward the sound of the opening door.

Catelyn rushes towards him, throwing her arms around Robb in a way that is very much the way a mother treats a son. Robb knows he has kept her at a distance since her betrayal, has only reluctantly let her advise him over the past weeks — but she is his mother, and he loves her, and he clings to her now, letting her presence ease some of the pain he feels.

Talisa stays seated, the swell of her stomach already starting to make her slower in her movements. _Gods _, Robb thinks as it sets in for the first time. They could have _been _there, too. Not just him, dying with his men; if they'd been home, his bride, his child, his mother, they might all be gone as well. He's seen his mother's grief, living on as her children one by one slip away from her, and mayhaps she would have preferred it, to die at Robb's side… but Talisa and his child, they deserve a better ending than that, they do not deserve to lose their lives because of his crimes.

"Where have you _been _?" she demands, pulling back. Catelyn tries to be stern, but it's near impossible; a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, her relief at his return palpable.

All that time on the way back, and Robb had not considered what to tell her. Saying he'd been _kidnapped _by the queen they'd come here to serve didn't seem like a good way to win Daenerys Targaryen favor with his mother, and besides, his tongue felt like lead after all he'd been through. He opened his mouth, but he found that it was next to impossible to even get a word out.

Fortunately, he does not have to. Barristan Selmy has entered the inn, too — Robb had been in such a rush to get inside, he'd left the man to tend to their horses on his own. But now he is here, and he finds his voice when Robb cannot.

"My apologies, Lady Stark. I escorted your son to meet my Queen," he explains, and Robb sees the recognition in everyone's eyes at the Westerosi accent. Have any of them met Barristan Selmy before? He's not sure; he doubts it, since they'd been on opposite sides of Robert's rebellion and Northmen don't make a habit of heading South.

If Robb were in a better mood, he might find it in himself to be amused, at the way this man can tell the truth while glossing over the less savory details. But he's not; he's still stricken by news from back in Westeros, and it shows on his face.

Dacey barks at Ser Barristan, "_ Who _are you?" but her question goes unanswered as Catelyn gasps, "You've met the Targaryen girl already? Did she deny an alliance?"

His mother sees it, she knows that something is upsetting her son, and finally, Robb manages to force the words out.

"No, mother. She didn't turn it down, but… there's no alliance to be had — our armies were slaughtered at the Twins."

* * *

It's almost amazing to see how different people can have such varying reactions to the same news.

The Greatjon roars with anger, cursing the fucking Freys and their shit for honor. Robb thinks he'd throw things if he could, break a few chairs in his anger at what has happened, but this is not the place for that, and he hold himself back.

The Blackfish looks almost as if he wants to laugh, though there's no mirth in his eyes. It's one of those things — it fucking _figures _. Ever since Rickard Karstark, ever since _Winterfell _, really, it's seemed like something terrible has been brewing, and this must finally be it. An ironic laugh, then — a hopeless kind of thing, the kind that people laugh when they're about ready to give up.

His mother is stunned into silence. She won't cry where any of them can see — Catelyn Stark has shed her tears already, for her husband, for her children, for her father. But he can tell that she is stunned, that she'd never expected that they were sending Edmure to what might have been his _death _when they'd bid him farewell. The family that she has left keeps dwindling and dwindling, and Robb only prays that she'll never have to see him fall before her, too.

Mormont women have always been said to be an unstoppable force. Dacey springs to her feet, refusing to think of the war as over, refusing to slow down and process the news. She wants action, she wants to start planning to retaliate, and she wants to do it _now _, not after they've sat idly by and mourned for men thousands of miles away.

Talisa, Robb senses, feels a mixture of things. She feels the sadness and despair that rolls off of his mother in waves, she feels the anger of Greatjon Umber, but mostly, she seems to feel what Dacey feels — the itch to be there, the itch to do something. Robb isn't sure what a pregnant woman could have even done, in the middle of a massacre, but Talisa has always been one to _try _. She would have knelt by bodies of the dying and tried to heal them until she'd died herself, and Robb wants to reach out to her, to comfort her and find comfort _in _her.

Grey Wind beats him to it, though. His wolf has quietly padded over to Talisa, and is nuzzling her pregnant belly gently. As if to remind her: life may have been lost, but there is new life to come.

They ask questions that Robb has no answers to, they curse Walder Frey and Roose Bolton, but in the end, there is not much they can do but look forward, for if they look back, they are lost.

_That _is when they finally turn their attention back to Barristan Selmy, as Robb explains that he is in the service of the Dragon Queen. His mother recalls that Renly had known Barristan had set out to serve the _true _heir to the throne, and there had been rumor that he'd gone to Stannis Baratheon's side… Now they knew those rumors were unfounded.

"Barristan the Bold," Brynden whistles, from where he stands at Catelyn's side. He has a hand clasped on his niece's shoulder, as if he is the only thing keeping her from crumbling. Robb knows she weeps on the inside for Edmure, but he feels numb to it, now that he stands before his people, the ones who have chosen to follow him a world away.

He _always _has to feel numb. He _always _has to lead. Robb wonders if he'll even _remember _how to feel at all by the time this is done, or if he'll have had to bury any semblance of emotion deep inside for the sake of being _strong _.

"The Blackfish," Barristan greets in reply, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Robb is relieved that respect passes between the two men; it's a much different scene than the one that would have unfolded, had Daenerys sent Jorah Mormont with him as she'd wished. Having a respected knight in their midsts makes the Northmen more accepting of the Targaryen queen — or maybe it's just the fact that now, they _truly _have no other choice. Before, they'd sought out this alliance to strengthen the forces they already had. Now, Daenerys's forces are the _only _forces they'll have on their side moving forward. What else even is there for them to do but trust in her?

"If you'll gather your things… the future Queen of Westeros awaits," Ser Barristan encourages them, and wordlessly, the heavy-hearted bunch head to their separate rooms, to depart for Targaryen camp in no more than an hour's time.

* * *

Robb knows he should pack up and be the first back downstairs, but when he and Talisa reach their room, he leaves Grey Wind to guard the door while he crosses the distance between him and his wife and wraps her up in his arms. Robb buries his head in her shoulder, needing to be near her, to _feel _her — to remember that this is real, that they are _here _and _safe _, relatively speaking. What happened in Westeros feels like something out of a bad dream, but he is awake, and he is still alive, and his wife is still here, still _his _.

"Robb," she scolds as he starts pressing kisses to her skin, each one trailing lower, until her stern voice morphs into a breathless moan.

"I love you," he tells her fiercely, tugging the light Essosi shirt over his head, needing to feel more skin, needing to be closer, closer, _closer _, as close as he can get. Robb needs to remember that there is still good in the world, still things to live for, to _fight _for, and one of the things that drives him the most is here, helping him lift the clothes off of his body as he grasps at hers, too.

"They'll be waiting for us," Talisa protests weakly, even as her hands undo the laces of his breeches. Maybe it's wrong, that when so much bad has happened, Robb would want this, want _her _— but wasn't that how they'd found themselves in this situation in the first place? Grief over Bran and Rickon, Talisa's stubbornness and strength, her willingness to treat him like a _man _and not just a king… all of it had led him into her arms in the first place, and it seemed fitting that he'd want to fall into them again now.

"We can be quick," Robb coaxes, the length of him already hard against her thigh as he presses against her urgently.

She doesn't fit against him the same way she had in the past; the swell of her stomach, the growth of their _child _, it has started to change her body and it means Robb molds against her differently than before.

He relishes it, gently lowering her to their bed, losing himself in loving her.

* * *

When they are done, Robb wants nothing more to stay in this room with Talisa, their legs tangled together, his fingers gently tracing circles over her stomach, hiding from the harsh reality of the world outside. He is true to his word, though, and untangles himself from his wife, even allowing her to lounge in the bed while he quickly packs for the both of them. They aren't even the last to make it downstairs — his mother and the Blackfish are, and he can see the red-rim around his mothers eyes.

She has taken this time to cry for Edmure, he knows, while Robb has done the opposite, has refused to dwell on the people they've lost and instead found solace in the ones he still has.

_Everyone grieves in their own ways _, he thinks, as they pay the innkeeper for his kind service and for the horses they will take to Daenerys's camp, and then they are on their way.


	8. Chapter 8

When Robb and his weary group arrive back at Queen Daenerys's camp, something feels different. It's daytime, but the camp is nearly as quiet as it was when he was dragged here in the middle of the night. The only signs of life he sees are a few women and children moving about, and it takes him only a moment to realize that perhaps they are freed slaves from the cities she has left behind, people who have chosen to follow their queen rather than stay behind while she moves on.

Robb had already wanted to know more, so much more, about this queen across the sea, but he thinks right now, learning anything he can would be a welcome change from thinking about the state of things back home. Their whole ride, Robb has thought on what he should have done differently, but all he can do is keep moving now. He cannot change the past, and he cannot bring his men back. He can only hope to avenge them, and without this Targaryen queen, he surely cannot.

Just ahead of Robb, Ser Barristan seems to sense the quiet in the camp as well. He dismounts his horse and leads them in the direction of the tent Robb had sat with Daenerys in the night before, where they discover not the queen, but a copper-skinned woman with almond eyes just outside. She recognizes her queen's warrior and gives him her full attention, although she seems almost embarrassed to answer when he asks, "Jhiqui, where can we find Her Grace?"

This Jiqhui pauses for a moment before saying, "The Queen has marched towards Meereen. If you ride quickly, you should be able to catch her."

* * *

After news of the bloody wedding at the Twins, Robb hardly wants to let his company out of his sight, especially not his wife and their child growing within her. They've only just arrived at Daenerys's camp when Barristan Selmy urges him to come with him to the gates of Meereen while Jhiqui gets the members of his party settled in at camp.

Robb hesitates for just a moment, and Talisa's hand goes to squeeze his instantly. "This is why you came here, Robb," she whispers to him as a reminder. "You want to see if this woman can be a good queen — go and _watch _to see what kind of leader she really is." It is only at his wife's urging that Robb agrees, and Dacey immediately moves to go with him, to have someone to look after him.

"I'll be safe with Ser Barristan, Dacey," Robb counters, because in the haze of his thoughts of back home, he hasn't thought to tell her that one of _her _ghosts from back home is here. On the brink of sieging a city hardly seems the time for her to encounter Jorah for the first time, and he is relieved when his Uncle Brynden silences her protests. In the end, they even agree to keep Grey Wind with them, rather than sending him to follow after Robb. He doesn't know what awaits them at Meereen's gates, and he thinks it's best to keep his direwolf here, with a protective eye on his family should it be needed.

Robb mounts his horse again, riding off with Ser Barristan towards the city's walls, and he's glad to have his thoughts occupied by _this _. It's a brief reprieve from his grief as he wonders for the first time if Daenerys Targaryen _is _a good queen after all. He's had so much blind faith in her so far, and he wants to believe his faith is placed correctly now more than ever.

Still, he can't help but wonder what sort of queen makes this sort of move on an impulse. It had been clear from Ser Barristan's reaction that he'd had no idea that the siege of Meereen was to happen today, and Robb can't imagine making this sort of move without one of his closest advisors. It feels impulsive, and in Robb's own experiences, impulsivity hasn't brought him good fortune.

Still… he doesn't think he would take it back, not even after all he knows now. Loving Talisa, being with her, starting a family with her; it would do Robb little good to regret it now, when he's lost so much because of it. The loss of his men feels like such a waste already; it would not do for it to have been in vain, for it to have been for anything but a love built to last.

They ride hard, and the handmaiden's words ring true; they aren't quite to the city walls yet when they spot Daenerys and her company, and Robb is bold enough to follow Ser Barristan right to where his queen waits in the midst of it all.

* * *

Daenerys seems unsurprised that her loyal knight has joined her, as if she is a woman that is accustomed to people following her where she goes. Perhaps she is; he knows that the Unsullied among her forces are historically a bought people, but there are Dothraki, too, and from what Robb had learned of the horselords growing up, they don't typically go anywhere without a khal. That they're still here among her people after her husband had died raises more questions, but Robb doesn't imagine he'll get them answered anytime soon.

He's putting so much faith in someone he knows so little about. He could have at least imagined at what her life might have been like if she'd grown up in Westeros, but the foreign customs he was taught as a child have slipped from his memory in favor of war strategies and Westerosi politics.

Daenerys turns and flashes him a smile, as if she is pleased to see Robb with Ser Barristan, though, and it helps Robb to feel again like he's put his faith in the right person. She doesn't have the cruel smirk he remembers of Joffrey Baratheon, or the coldness he imagines is worn by Stannis Baratheon. She doesn't have the heartless look that Robb imagines of Baelon Greyjoy, either, the one that he'd heard Theon describe in their childhood.

Thinking of Theon is just another pang in Robb's chest, another reminder of the people who have betrayed him and the things that he has lost. Robb knows that he cannot keep looking back, but still, he tries to lock the past away inside of him, something that he can draw upon when he needs a reminder of what he's still fighting for.

And now, he must focus on _this _fight. Someone else's fight, but one that is for something he already has convinced himself is a worthy cause.

"I thought you would have waited a bit longer for this, your Grace," Ser Barristan says to his queen, and she doesn't blanch at his bluntness. Instead, there is a blazing look of determination in her eyes as she says, "These people have been enslaved long enough, Ser Barristan. I'd say there's hardly any more time to waste, wouldn't you?"

The old knight dares not disagree with her, and her attention lingers on Robb as she adds, "Besides. The sooner things are set right here, the sooner we can turn our eyes towards Westeros."

Robb swallows thickly, trying to imagine it. What does a world set right even _look _like? What's left of his family together, he supposes. His child growing up with Sansa and Arya as his or her aunts, safely in the walls of Winterfell, back safely under Stark control. The Lannisters, punished for the crimes they'd committed not just against his family, but against so many others. The Freys, the Greyjoys…

But beyond all that, Robb thinks that a world set right _must _have a just ruler on the Iron Throne. As they reach the walls of Meereen, Robb supposes this will be his first chance to see up close whether that just ruler will be Daenerys Targaryen.

* * *

Robb falls back to watch what unfolds outside of the walls of Meereen with interest. It isn't his place to be involved in Daenerys's affairs, not yet, perhaps not ever, but he is glad of that. He'd rather see how she handles herself without any opinion from him, and after all that's transpired… he's not sure he trusts his opinions very much at the moment anyway.

Coming here might still be a good decision, but sending Edmure to marry a Frey girl, hoping that his men could repair the alliance he himself had broken…

_No _. The temptation to look back and dwell is great, but Robb must be in the moment. He must learn everything he can about his fellow young ruler, and start to learn he does, as the Meereenese send forward a champion and Daenerys sets to the task of choosing one of their own. Already, it seems she wants to avoid bloodshed, and gods know Robb has had more than enough of that. The less people he has to watch die the better, no matter how horrible of people they might seem to be.

The men amongst Daenerys's company don't cower from the chance to be her champion. Whether they volunteer themselves out of loyalty, out of belief in the cause, or just for their own chance at glory, he can't guess. Robb knows by now that men do things for all number of reasons, but Ser Barristan, Jorah Mormont, and a man he will come to learn is called Daario Naharis all volunteer for the spot.

Robb listens carefully as Daenerys chooses amongst them, trying not to bristle when Daenerys calls Jorah her closest advisor, her closest friend. It's clear that the queen has been through much with this northern traitor, and in spite of himself Robb hopes that perhaps he _has _changed. He knows enough of betrayal by now; he'd hate for Jorah to betray the Targaryen queen the way he'd betrayed the laws and justice of the North.

He finds himself agreeing with her wisdom in not choosing Ser Barristan. Though he hates the idea that any person is expendable, Robb's been on enough battlefields to _know _. There are some men you hate to lose, but others you _cannot _lose. If you lose them, then you yourself are lost, and he wonders how this Daario feels, knowing that he's the most expendable to his queen and that's the only reason he's been chosen.

Still, the man strides forward with pride — and perhaps with a bit of stupidity, refusing the horse that he's offered and confidently stepping forward all the same. Robb knows what it's like the be the one in charge; he knows Daenerys could intervene if she wanted, could force him to do things her way. Instead, she stands back and trusts him, allows him to choose for himself.

Perhaps Robb is just reaching for things to hold onto, things to believe in, but he chooses to count her faith in her people as a good sign. Maybe he shouldn't think that way, so soon after Roose Bolton's betrayal… but if Robb were to start disbelieving everyone around him, then what even was there to live for anymore? If he looked on everyone in his life as if they were lesser, or glanced at them with constant suspicion, then what even was the point?

Daenerys watched Daario Naharis, and Robb watches Daenerys, as the battle between the champions begins.

* * *

Little is resolved that day, but as they ride back towards camp, Robb reflects on what he has seen. He's only seen one man of Daenerys's fight, just her champion Daario, but he won the battle so decisively that it felt like it was over just before it had begun. He'd taken out the man's horse, then the man himself, and no one else had run forward to engage, not even after the Meereenese had fired their warning arrows in the queen's direction.

It was hard not to smile, thinking of the warning that the Targaryen queen had sent back. Broken chains; a symbol of all the people she had freed before, and all the people she planned to free here as well.

Robb hardly noticed when he found himself riding abreast of the queen again, and Daenerys turned her head to look at him, asking, "And what did you think… Robb?" She nearly stumbles over what to call him, just remembering that he has granted her permission to address him informally, and he can tell from the slight waver in her voice that it's important to her, how he answers. She may be the one in charge here, but she wants the approval of those around her, and Robb finds he is more than happy to grant it.

"I don't think I was ever so clever when sending messages of my own," he tells her, the corners of his lips turning up in the closest thing to a grin since he's learned the news of the wedding.

"And?" she encourages, and Robb grants her what she wants, continuing on.

"I think if you handle the taking of the city even half as well, then I haven't traveled all this way for nothing."


	9. Chapter 9

Robb didn't realize how much time was passing as he stood outside of the walls of Meereen. He'd been lost in the moment, lost in something besides his own grief, and he thinks perhaps it was the most alive he'd felt since Kartstark had left.

He may only have known Daenerys Targaryen for a short while, but in spite of all the darkness behind him, the world already feels a bit brighter.

The sun's setting when they return and he bids farewell to the Queen as he encounters Jhiqui again. She shows him to where his people have been set up, and when she points out the tent that is meant to be his, he enters to find his wife and mother both inside. His mother seemed to be fussing over Talisa — or more likely, over the child that's becoming more and more pronounced in her belly all the time — but Catelyn ceases the moment that Robb enters.

There had been a tentativeness surrounding his mother ever since Jaime Lannister's release; Robb had made her a prisoner, and it had made her retreat from speaking her mind. Some of that had lessened while they'd been on their travels, but now that they're among Daenerys's camp, now that politics and war are back at the forefront of everything, some of that hesitancy seems to have returned.

Talisa, however, has never been afraid to speak her mind. It's one of the things he loves most about her; she doesn't shy away from what's happening around her, and she doesn't _care _that he's a king. If she thinks he's making a mistake, she'll tell him as much.

"Well?" she asks Robb expectantly, and for a second it reminds him of Daenerys, the look she'd given him on the ride back. The way it only took one word and a pointed glare before Robb was spilling all of his thoughts.

He sits beside Talisa, one hand going to rest on where their babe grows inside of her, and begins to recount what he'd witnessed earlier that day. He's hoping that his wife isn't about to tell him he's making a mistake now.

If this is a mistake, then where else is there to turn?

_Nowhere _, he thinks. If Daenerys Targaryen is not the answer to their prayers, if it turns out that she is just as cruel or corrupt as the rest of them, then he hates to imagine the world their child will be coming into in just a few weeks' time.

* * *

Robb almost forgets that his mother is in the room as he talks; she's listening, taking it all in, pondering it.

Talisa, on the other hand, interrupts him to ask questions, and often. When he gets to the bit about the arrows fired in a warning shot, she asks him if anyone was injured, if there's anyone here that she can help.

He loves that about her, too. Her willingness to help no matter what, no matter what side of the war someone's on. She'd helped their enemies back in Westeros, and now she'd help perfect strangers, even with the effects of her pregnancy that she's surely feeling. She doesn't complain about it to him, not ever, and he loves that about her too. How strong she is, how confident and independent — Robb thinks he needs his wife entirely more than she needs him.

He's always questioning himself, always seeking approval, always wishing his father was still here to impart just a bit more wisdom on him before he goes further down this path. Talisa's someone who has left her past behind and never seems to doubt her choice, and Robb hopes that maybe someday, when he looks back on all that's transpired, he can feel some sort of peace. Some sort of sense that this was all worth it in the end, that ultimately, what he's doing now was _right _.

But while Robb is half a world away from home, grasping onto his last chance to give the Lannister the justice they deserve and give the North the safety and freedom it deserves… he's given a jolting reminder, after he's done talking, that this is the closest to _Talisa's _home that he's ever been.

"She sounds like her heart is in the right place," Catelyn finally chimes in, and even with the rift between them of late Robb hears her unspoken _just like yours _. He was just a boy when this all started; Daenerys was just a girl. They're two rulers clinging to ideals and morals and senses of right and wrong, but Robb knows that for him, at least, it hasn't been enough.

He'd said he never wanted to do all of this for the glory or the songs, but gods, wouldn't it have been nice if things had turned out in a way that was worth singing about it? He regrets ever saying it, now that he sees the way his life has unfolded more like a horror than like a triumphant tale of old.

"Her heart _is _in the right place," Talisa agrees, but he senses there is a _but _coming even before she says it. "But if there's so much good she can do here, why go back to Westeros at all? Think of all the good she can do for other slaves here — after Meereen, there's Myr, there's Tyrosh, there's Volantis…"

Robb thinks he should agree with her. After all, he has very little to go back to Westeros for at this point, too — Bran, gone. Rickon, gone. Father, gone. No word of Arya for moons, Jon's life dedicated to the black. Theon and the Boltons had betrayed him, his men were gone… Perhaps it would be simpler, staying here, helping Daenerys, bringing better life to people he hadn't already failed so readily.

But then he thinks of Sansa. Naive, beautiful Sansa, still in the capitol surrounded by monsters, still waiting for a brother who hadn't yet come to save her…

That fire still burned within him. He needed to go home, he needed to set things right. He needed to save his sister, take back his home, give his son or daughter a chance at the idyllic life in Winterfell that _he'd _had growing up, the one _before _Robert Baratheon that he looked back on with nothing but fondness.

Daenerys Targaryen may not have gotten to grow up in Westeros the way that Robb had, but it was a part of her. Her history, her legacy… her destiny, she seemed to think.

He had a feeling she wasn't going to be able to agree with his wife's sentiment any more than Robb was.

"Westeros needs someone decent to rule it, too," Robb tells her with regret, and he can sense her twinge of disappointment. She hadn't been impressed with Westeros and the way the common folk were sacrificed so readily for the wars of men who fancied themselves important.

She hadn't been impressed by her own home, either, once upon a time. They're so close to the home she left, though; they're in the presence of someone who has already started to make the areas around it better, and Talisa's right. If Daenerys kept going, if she kept influencing Essosi cities to try a different way…

Volantis is so close compared to where they'd been before, but it feels so far from where he and Daenerys both want to be. From where their duty awaits them. Robb has a feeling this is the closest to Volantis they'll ever actually be, and he feels a small amount of sadness for his wife as he changes the subject, doing his best to leave his wife's train of thought behind.

* * *

Robb wakes the next morning with a start. He and Talisa had stayed up talking with Cat a bit longer before his mother had retreated to her own tent and they'd all gotten a good night's rest, but he realizes he'd been so busy thinking of other things the night before that he'd overlooked one slightly important thing.

Jorah Mormont.

Or moreso, the small group of Northern men who are unaware they're now in the same _camp _as a traitor to the North, including his cousin Dacey.

Dacey has been one of his most loyal fighters this whole time, has been strong and brave and had masked her feelings well, even when she'd learned of the disastrous wedding and the fact that her mother Maege had likely died at it.

Robb springs up and tugs on clothing quickly, knowing that it's the least he can do for her, to make sure she hears of Jorah's allegiance to Daenerys before she has to see him with her own eyes.

Talisa stirs as Grey Wind settles beside her, replacing Robb's warmth. She likes to push through things, but Robb knows that she is growing slower as she grows heavier with child, sleeping later, taking things a bit easier where she thinks no one will notice. He is glad of hsi wolf's willingness to protect her as he himself leaves the tent and hopes that someone will be able to tell him of Dacey's whereabouts.

He doesn't see Jhiqui, or Ser Barristan or Daenerys. He does spot a familiar face, though; his Uncle Brynden is already awake and talking quietly with his mother, and Robb walks over to them quickly.

"Is everything all right?" Cat asks, looking in the direction of his tent, for some sign of Talisa. Robb must look even more frantic than he feels, if his mother's first assumption is that something is wrong with his wife, and then he feels guilty, that he's not worrying about her more. He'd seen his mother go through childbirth when he was young, knew that it was taxing, and yet he'd brought his wife halfway around the world and hadn't asked nearly often enough how she was doing.

_Later _, Robb promised. She was always asking how he was bearing his burdens; later, he'd start doing a better job of doing the same in kind.

Right now, though, he said, "Fine, I just needed to speak with Dacey about something. A… sensitive matter."

He can tell his mother wants to ask, and he's more willing to share things with her than he was before they'd left, away from scrutinizing eyes of men who feel Catelyn Stark has taken their justice away from them.

"Over there," his uncle answers before his mother can question him, though, and Robb heads off in her direction, knowing this must be done before they're given an audience with the queen, lest chances at an alliance be ruined by tensions between one of _his _most trusted advisors and one of hers.

* * *

"Robb," Dacey greets him informally as he's told her to do, something he's glad of. It's almost unbearable sometimes, the way people he'd loved to have considered equals in another life are always treating him as if he's on a different level, like he's untouchable or somehow above them. He doesn't _feel _above them, and he doesn't want to be… Even if he is. Even if he doesn't really have anyone who understands or shares his burden… except perhaps the Targaryen queen they'd come all this way to see.

Dacey nods her head in greeting, but she barely makes eye contact with Robb. She's busy looking around, always being alert. He's just glad that her eyes don't seem to have alerted her of the company Queen Daenerys kept yet, and he nods his head towards the side, indicating he'd like to talk to her somewhere where others can't hear.

"You have a wife, your Grace," she jests, and gods, he's so grateful for moments of lightness like this. They've been so few and far between of late, and he knows this one's not going to last, not once he tells her what he needs to.

"Aye, and I'm sure said wife would love to kill me herself if I let you walk around this camp completely unaware," Robb replies, and finally her attention stops being on their surroundings and starts being fully on their king.

Dacey lets Robb pull her to the side, and then asks, "Unaware of what?"

* * *

Robb had known her reaction wouldn't be pretty; Jorah Mormont was a blemish to their family name. Jorah Mormont had sold _slaves _, which made no sense with his queen's current mission, and idly, Robb wondered again if she knew.

Dacey had barely contained a roar at the news that he was not only alive and well after escaping the fate he'd earned for himself, but that he was one of their new queen's most trusted advisors.

"He should have come to justice years ago!" Dacey hisses, when she starts to worry that too many eyes will be on them if she's too loud. Robb nods his head, because he _knows _. He knows she's right, and he knows it's what his father would have done.

Hells, months ago it's what _he _would have done, too. But he thinks back to Karstark, he thinks of what has happened since that fateful moment when he'd swung his sword, and he knows he can't ask for justice, not now. Not with this alliance so new and so precarious, and especially not with how little he has to offer to Daenerys.

"What choice do we have?" Robb asks her sadly, wishing he could do this for her and her family. Wishing he could finish what his own father had started, as a way to feel close to him, even as day by day his face started to slip further and further out of her memory.

Would Ned Stark be proud of him now, for backing down from making Jorah Mormont pay for his crimes? Robb wanted to hope that he'd be glad his son had learned from his mistakes, and that he could compromise when it was necessary for a greater good, but he didn't know anymore.

He didn't feel like he knew much of anything anymore, but he did know that he'd have to ask Dacey to temper her feelings on this, at least for the time being.

"The North remembers. I can't forget what he did, nor can I forgive it," Dacey insists, and Robb can feel how incensed she is. He also knows, though, how loyal she is. She'll listen, and follow, even if she doesn't like what he commands.

"I can't ask you to do either of those things. I won't. All I can ask is that none of us jeopardize our situation with Queen Daenerys by being less than civil to him," Robb says, and she sighs unhappily, then nods her head.

"I'll do my best," she huffs, then takes her leave.

* * *

Robb returns to his tent to find Talisa being fussed over by Jhiqui, and he chuckles at the sight, knowing how his wife hates to be taken care of.

"Special occasion?" he prods, wondering _why _she's allowing it now — if it's that the baby has made her more amenable to such things, or something else.

Jhiqui answers before Talisa can, nodding her head as she says, "Khaleesi has requested an audience with your Northerners," before continuing to help Talisa ready herself for the meeting.

Robb smiles to himself. It isn't enough to tell his people that Daenerys is someone he thinks they can believe in; now, they'll finally get to see it for themselves.


End file.
